


As the Snow Crumbles

by jonsasnow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gross, Spoilers, but no love triangle, in petyr's pov, jonsa jonsa jonsa, just all jonsa, post the episode, s07e01, this is a jonsa zone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 06:19:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11526327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonsasnow/pseuds/jonsasnow
Summary: Prompt: LF sees that despite their disagreement in front of the Northern Lords, Jon and Sansa are still warm towards each other





	As the Snow Crumbles

“ _No need to see to the last word, Lord Baelish. I’ll assume it was something clever_.” 

The dismissal was clear in her tone. Petyr looked to that giant of a woman and inclined his head. “My lady.” He spared another glance for Sansa. He wished he could still read her, still get a grasp of her thoughts, but mayhaps he had taught her too well. “My _lady_.” 

Petyr took his leave of her. She had grown in the years since King’s Landing; her temperament much more frigid than Winter’s first breath. He could not recognise the young girl he had known, but he could not regret the woman she had become. So beautiful, so smart, so much more than that bastard half-brother of her deserves. Jon Snow, King of the North. Petyr scoffed at the title. What right did this man have to the title? What did he possess that inspired such loyalty amongst the Stark bannermen? 

He would bide his time, his plans already in motion. A few more tugs here and Sansa will come to see what little use she has of Jon. The argument in the Great Hall had been indicative of their fraying bond. All Petyr had to do was plant some seeds of doubt into her mind, show her just how unfit Jon was for the throne, and then she would be his. A trueborn Stark would always rank higher in the minds of the Northern Lords. If Sansa was in disagreement with Jon, she could usurp his claim, and then, _only then_ , will Petyr strike and take what he was deserved. 

The clatter of men fighting in the yard rang in his ear. Petyr veered away from them. It was cold out, and the temperature only reminded him of how much he loathed the North. He could hear nothing as he entered the Great Keep. The warmth from the hot springs beneath them eased the numbness from his skin. He wound around the corridors, bypassing servants and scullery maids who paid little attention to him as he walked. They would soon know his name, as would all of Westeros when he ruled the Seven Kingdoms with sweet Sansa by his side. It was only a matter of time and Petyr was good at the waiting game. 

As he rounded the corner, the sound of voices cut through the stillness. He checked around him and once he deemed the area safe, Petyr moved to the door to listen. 

“Jon, stop laughing at me!” 

“I’m not laughing. It’s just – you have to stand like this, and here…” 

There was giggling from beyond the door. He wished to open it and see what was happening, but it would surely alert them to his presence, so he continued to listen. 

“Oh gods, I will never learn this. I am not made for fighting, Jon.”

“You are made for anything you set your mind to, Sansa. Now please, watch me.” 

“You make it look so easy.” 

“I would say the same of your stitching. It merely takes practice.” 

Distinct and clear, he heard her giggling again. The sound was new and jarring to the Sansa he had spoken to only moments ago. She sounded happy; no, _happier_  than he had ever heard her. This was not what he had planned. 

“I’m afraid, my king, that if you wish me to fight in the war, I’ll be the first to fall.” 

And now she was teasing? Petyr clenched his fists in barely suppressed anger. 

“You will never have to fight if I have something to do with it.”

“You can’t protect me, Jon.” 

“Aye, but I’ll die trying anyway.” 

That was enough. Petyr marched away from the door and tore through the castle, his mind whirring with unease. They were supposed to be in disagreement. They were supposed to be _fighting_ , yet what he had heard just then sounded as far from it as it could be. 

In fact, if he didn’t know any better, they sounded like Ned and Catelyn. 


End file.
